Notice the Unnoticed, Notice the Decent
by Artfully Troublesome
Summary: Nobody saw it coming, eyes too focused on the ever stunning, Aeris Gainsborough. Angst/Tragedy/Romance Seph/Tifa AU.


AHHHH, FINALLY I GOT THIS DONE! YESS! This was started around May 2008, now ending Feb. 7. 2009. 2:43AM. This is such a momentous moment. I am so happy. Too many damn brain blocks preventing the progression of this one-shot. I hope you enjoy this. I apologize for any confusion when reading this.

Warning: Contains some amount of Aeris & Cloud bashing, although I tried to keep it at a minimum.  
Rated M for safety.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, nor do I make a profit out of writing about them, although that would be nice if it were LEGAL.

* * *

Notice the Unnoticed. Notice the Decent.

Nobody saw it coming, all eyes focused on the ever stunning green-eyed beauty, Aeris Gainsborough. She was delectable up, down, and all around, with her auburn hair curled prettily around her face, a cute smile, petite body accented by a tight pink dress, the elegant sway of her hips, and an outgoing and flirty personality. Many men fell for her after drinking up her appearance, and hearing her stories told by a light voice, completely forgetting their lovers waiting for them at home. He scoffed, brushing silver hair out of his jade orbs. Only fools would be easily deceived by her charms; who knows how many men she slept with and how many lies she hid behind fake smiles, bright eyes, and shrilly laughter. He watched her dancing sexily, grinding against a blond with unusually bright blue eyes. On lookers would assume he was attracted to her by his constant stares but his bored expression would prove otherwise, after all—he was no fool.

The music blared noisily in his ears. The humid air of the club was suffocating. Sephiroth pushed the black rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He twirled a small photo in between his long slender fingers, pausing for a moment to study his targets appearance Long raven hair, wine coloured eyes, curvaceous body hidden behind baggy clothing, and a courageous smile. Even looking at a photo, he could tell she was a person full of hope and innocence. He gave a slight chuckle. Finally, a headstrong and honest woman in Midgar. It's quite a shame Jenova hired him to dispose of her. He sighed, pocketing the picture.

Time passed by slowly as he sat there. The seconds felt like minutes, and minutes like hours. Even the great Sephiroth started to doubt if he was wrong about her current location and schedule. Did something happen? His fingertips drummed the surface of the table lightly, considering the scenarios that could've happened. If somebody had gotten to her before he did, he would personally skin him/her and then burn that somebody alive while shoving venom down his/her throat. His gaze drifted around the room seeking even one sign of her. Nothing. Waste of his Saturday night. To his not so great luck, the bartender spotted him. She came up to him with a little wiggle. She asked him if he wanted a drink, flipping her multi-coloured hair while doing so. The assassin nodded, wanting something strong and bitter. The bartender turned around and went on her way, swaying her hips for an added affect. Sephiroth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He continued to drum his fingers. She returned soon after, placing the glass down in front of him with a small click. The bartender leaned in, flaunting her breasts, or lack of. She shot him a saucy grin, licking her lips a little; trying too hard to be seductive.

"Hey, after that drink, lemme take you dancing at the back", she said, voice low and honeyed. Her eyes held a suggestive look in them.

Sephiroth regarded her with a slight flick of the wrist. He gestured towards the dance floor.

"Surely, if you are looking for a dance, it would make sense if you would do so at the dance floor. Besides, I can't dance, Miss." _Not with whores like you._

To Sephiroth's non-existent surprise, the bartender didn't take the hint. She pressed forward, trailing her fingers against the tabletop, and up to the crimson tie around his neck. The young woman tugged at it lightly.

"I could teach you," she purred. "Every step, every move, the right rhythms. It would be an—ecstatic experience."

Gently, he put the alcohol down, his hand still on the glass. The ice clinked as it hit another. The silver-haired man looked at her coolly, his glare piercing her.

"I think you misunderstood, Miss. I should have said I do not dance," He said softly yet stonily. "Especially with you, anyways."

She shrunk back, removing her hand from his clothing. The barmaid left with a pout adorned on her lips. Sephiroth could only sigh at this rotten reality. He hated women like her, those who throw themselves onto men whom they have never met. He had nothing against the ones who had to for a living; it was those who do it solely for pleasure that he detested. He glanced up. The woman was latching herself onto another man; not even 5 minutes passed and she was going at it again. That only proved his point further more. Once again, he sighed at this pitiful reality.

* * *

This was the place. She trembled as she neared the door. The bouncer did not notice her really; too busy prying a woman off his lap; it was a poor attempt indeed. Besides, there was barely a line now since everybody was practically inside. Standing outside, she prepped herself to enter; the pounding bass line of the music certainly distracting. She pulled the door open; a blast of warm humid air greeted her chilled face. Tifa took a step forward hesitantly. Should she go in or not? She needed the truth; she needed to see it with her own eyes. Her heels clicked slightly against ceramic tiles as she descended the stairs. Slender hands trailed elegant black metal that made the railings, leading her downwards. Her heart sped with every step she took. A sea of people stretched before her very eyes when reaching the bottom. The young woman made her way through, avoiding the moving limbs in her way. There she spotted him, dancing dirtily with a brunette in pink. His blonde hair was hard to miss; after all, it looked like a chocobo. Her mind froze; she could feel her knees give way. As she fell, she knew she should be walking over there, and yell at Cloud for his betrayal, but she didn't. Deep inside she knew it was true, but she denied it. Secretly, Tifa wished she'd hit her head against the corner of the bar table so hard that she'd die. She closed her eyes, so sure of her demise. And so she fell.

* * *

Sephiroth saw her coming down the stairs, immediately recognizing his target. Her face was flushed from the cold. A black dress clung to her curves nicely, but nobody turned their head. It was as if they could sense she wasn't an easy catch; somebody they'd have to work hard for. Men never really liked that here; it was all about their easy 'kicks'. She walked with grace, but an odd feeling of hesitation hung around her. She made her way through the crowd. The young woman was so close now, only a few paces away from him. She swayed slightly in mid-stride, and then fell. Her long raven hair trailed after her, swirling beautifully around her. He leaned forward, catching her body before impact. Her supple curves in his hands, he sighed. Silver bangs hung around her face, contrasting strangely with hers. She opened her eyes, wine orbs focusing on him. Tifa cringed her nose slightly. "You smell like alcohol."

At that, he almost laughed, suppressing it to a small smirk. What an odd woman.

He hoisted her up, placing her onto a seat beside him. She stared at his jade eyes strangely the whole time. They were so green, yet if struck right in the light, it'd look blue. Almost like Cloud's.

"Are you okay, Miss?" he asked politely.

She shook gently, her eyes straying away from his. He heard her whisper gently into the air, something only he can hear over the roar of the music. _Why didn't you let me die?_

Saying that, she stood up to leave. Sephiroth noticed this. He pulled her back, tugging her into him.

"Let me buy you a drink," he breathed. "You look like you need it."

Tifa slapped his hand away. She looked at him angrily, sorrow lingering in her eyes.

"You're drunk, Sir," she spat out. "Do not touch me; I do not want your 'comfort' of any kind." Her voice was weaker than she intended; making her sound broken.

Sephiroth tipped his head slightly, fingers poised against his chin. His gaze sharpened slightly so it showed he was serious—not drunk.

"If I am drunk, Miss," he said calmly. "You would've been taken advantage of a long time ago. I do not offer 'comfort' of any kind, it was merely a gentlemen's proposition."

With his other hand, he patted the seat beside him. Tifa looked at him harshly, but slipped into the chair beside him. She would rather sit here and drink her night away, than spending it alone in her cold bed. Alone, and thinking about _his_ disloyalty, about the lies _he_ fed her so easily; the ones she eagerly consumed to satiate her growing doubt.

Through teary eyes, and slight anger, she saw him lean over the tabletop. He reached for a bottle of fine liquor, plucking a glass cup from a tray as he did so. Sephiroth poured the amber liquid with finesse, his movements almost cat-like. Idly, she thought that he'd be an awesome bartender, and an attraction to any bar that was lucky enough to have him, after all, his looks would catch the attention of practically the whole female population. Yes, he would definitely be popular with the ladies, they'd even shave their heads if he said he were into that kind of thing. She laughed slightly, more to herself. No, this man, he doesn't seem to be the type to like bald-women; the way he took care of his hair told her so. Rather abruptly, Sephiroth placed the cup in front of her, sending her out of her odd tangent. Tifa looked up, surprise flashing through her eyes before switching back to harsh glares. She breathed in deeply then shot him a question. "You didn't poison it, did you, sir?" Her tone was curt, but her voice still wavered.

Sephiroth merely gave her a small look, peering at her over elegant glasses, then sipped at the drink he had in hand. An action that only said, 'Did I not establish the fact that if I wanted to do something, I would've done so long ago?'

Hesitantly, Tifa caught the sign, and slowly wrapped her slender fingers around the glass, drawing it towards her lips. The rich liquid slid down her throat leaving a pleasurable sting behind it; she could already feel the numbing affects it has.

"What brings you down here?" Sephiroth asked. "Such a woman like you shouldn't be in a low-class place like this."

"As to you, a 'gentleman' as you spending your time in a place like this," she quipped, tongue sharp with daggered words. "You don't look like a man who would pleasure themselves in being surrounded by immoral women."

Sephiroth could only chuckle at her sarcasm.

"Aa, but you are right. I take no pleasure from being harassed by such prostitutes; in fact, I would have left a few minutes ago, if you had not walked in, Miss," he smoothly said.

Tifa was surprised at how easily he used the word 'prostitute' in the midst of his gentlemanly words whereas she took her time to avoid uttering that word. She raised a delicate eyebrow.

"Oh, so I seemed to attract your attention?" she asked, once again, sarcasm coated her words. "I feel quite honoured, Sir. But, how would you know I'm not a prostitute myself?"

He looked at her, his eyes hard as if it has seen everything. "Miss, you dress appropriately, you don't hide behind layers of make-up, you don't flaunt yourself, and you have not made any repulsive innuendos as of yet." Sephiroth paused. "Now tell me Miss, would you call yourself a prostitute?"

Tifa broke his gaze, looking down into her cup, her fire snuffed out. She trembled; he judged her upon arrival, deeming her decent enough to talk to. She felt small once again.  
Sephiroth took her silence as her agreement. He continued to watch her despite the lack of effort on the receiving end. Her whole being dropped immediately, falling into self-angst. Her mind seemed to be in a fragile state, easily swayed by words. She was sort of odd, the way her mood changed instantaneously, from snippy to downtrodden. Nonetheless, he found her interesting. He could still see her as an honest woman underneath her fiery personality. She was worth the time he spent in here, and he was willing to give up more of it with her, her company now something worthy to play with. Sephiroth decides to break the tension between them.

"I didn't mean to pry," He starts quietly, gently easing himself into her presence again. "You just looked like you needed company."

Tifa peers at him through thick eyelashes, finally noticing how he never looked at her body, he merely kept his attention on her face. She started to play with the ruby ring on her third finger, the cheap silver winking dully at her. Slowly, she slid it off her fingers, playing with it between her fingers, letting it glint in the party lights.

"After a call from a friend, Vincent, I went to look for my fiancee," Tifa glares at her ring harshly before placing it on the table none to gently, finger tips still lingering on the smooth edges of the band. "My ex-fiancee. We were supposed to meet at a restaurant to celebrate our soon to be wedding."

She looks up at Sephiroth, her eyes truly drowned in sorrow. The young woman breathes in gently, trying to pull herself together.

"I came here, hoping what Vincent said wasn't true, but I found him down here, dancing with some brunette no less. Our wedding, it's in a few days. How can he do this to me," she cracks slightly. "We were in love."

Sephiroth finally understood why she was so guarded, and fallen at the same time. To his surprise, she laughed bitterly, small tears gathering around her eyes. It was a heart breaking sound, wrenching at the little heart the man had. He did nothing of course, barely taking notice of the odd clenching of his chest.

"Who am I kidding?" another bitter laugh. "We were at one point, but now--it's all one-sided. He strung me along, and. . . "

Tifa shook, gripping her ring firmly in her hand. With a sudden cry, lost in the lyrics of the latest music, she hurled the ring far away into the crowd of people at the back.

"And I--I willingly believed all his words. I was such a fool, blinded by puppy love!" Tears started to fall, staining her mascara, leaving long, ebony lines as it travelled downwards; pure tears tainted by the dark, bleakness of pain. "I knew he was seeing her for the past year, and yet I ignored it."

She had fallen so far, breaking all her barriers as she did. Strangely, the assassin wanted to catch her at the bottom. He stands, moving next to her, his tall, lithe frame towering over hers. He offers her a hand, hands normally gloved for jobs like his. She deserved the privilege of touching his skin, to share the warmth of another person's loving company. She was worth his gloveless state.  
His gesture took her by surprise. Sephiroth didn't look away when she stared at him questioningly, nor did he blush like a school boy. His face was mature, almost stoic save for the purposeful softening of his jade eyes. She was somebody who did not deserve this. He wanted to save her from her misery in the hopes of a better life in the next unlike all the others he had killed. They died horribly, mutilated, or even shredded of their clothes for a shameful look; their true nature surfacing for all to see. This modest woman deserved better.

"Miss, you are no fool," he said gently. "He should be the one who is a fool, not you, never."

Tifa stared at him, from his silver hair; black dress shirt; soft, cat-like eyes to his outstretched hand. At his words, she realized she showed herself to a total stranger. She could feel her tears now, cold and wet, sliding down her porcelain skin. It was like the dark cloud over her head shrank in size when she told this man what was troubling her. It surprised her how easy it was. His finger were long, and slender; a perfect invitation for hers. She hesitantly placed her hand in his, finally accepting what ever comfort he had to offer. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips when she did. He elegantly lead her out of her chair, and into the dance floor.

Sephiroth brought his arm up slightly, bringing Tifa's along with it, tangling his own fingers with hers. His other arm neared her side, hands gripping lightly onto her hips. The way he held her was not intimate, rather, it was more like a gentleman's dance between acquaintances.

"Care to dance?"

Without waiting for an answer, he swept her into the crowd, leading her with his own steps. Tifa did not know how he did it, with the mass of moving bodies around them, but he did. He brought her into a waltz, an elegant dance matching a man like himself. He flowed into each move with ease, as if they were in a ball room instead of a hot, and stuffy dance club. He followed his own beat, his own orchestrated music, moving evenly despite the interchanging rhythm of the now-rave song. Tifa was embarrassed, she followed so stiffly, obviously effected by the outside world. She stumbled against his fluid movements, tripping often due to offbeats in Sephiroth's non-existent song. He held her closer, bringing them together in a more intimate way, trying to invite her into his own world. His hands tightened their grips, matching those of a lovers, and his head dipped slightly so she can see his eyes instead of his nose.  
Tifa was instantly drawn in as her wine eyes met his, entering his jade gates into the ball room he danced in. Here they were alone, without the scantily clad dancers, nor the pounding, and irregular music. It was just them. Here, she could feel his possessive hold, a difference to her ex-fiance's weak and unsure hold. It was a pleasant change. She leaned into him, finally able to hear the music, a fine, and elaborate sound. Sephiroth lead once more, this time, she could follow with as much grace as his.

Sephiroth enjoyed his time with her, feeling her true self emerging from her turmoiled state. She laughed freely, like she had no burden, nor pain. Her eyes sparkled with a different light than in the club, it was much more similar to the one in her picture. She moved with confidence, a purposeful meaning to each motion. He took pride in drawing out the true Tifa Lockheart, but he did not forget his main purpose for being with her, after all, it was his job. After this, he was an assassin once more.

Tifa was happy for once in a long time. There was this fulfilling feeling with being with this man. Cloud had not gave her this in so long. Perhaps it was that fact that they were childhood friends that made their relationship weak. They had no chance to meet other people to know what they truly wanted. Tifa uttered a breathy sigh. It seemed that Cloud had chosen an indecent woman over her. But that was the past, and here was her future. She tilts her head, getting a better angle at Sephiroth's face.

"To believe I was looking forward to being 'Mrs. Cloud-Strife'," she said. "I wonder if things would have been better if I had met you, Sir, first."

He hummed gently, as if to mull over what she had said. In reality, he was stalling the moment of her demise. He moves his hand up her side, drawing out a thin, curved knife out of his sleeve; perfect for slipping into the heart, and resting it discreetly on the underside of her breast. His other hand untangled itself from hers, choosing to lay behind her head, curling its fingers into ebony hair. He brings her head close to his face, noses inches apart.

"I believe so," Sephiroth whispered, his intoxicating breath filling Tifa's senses.

His lips crashes gently against hers, not quiet a chaste, brotherly kiss, nor was it a passionate one. It was tender, and caring, as if to fill what ever affection Tifa lacked from her ex-fiancee. As he did so, he slid the knife into her breast, piercing her heart with intent to end her life. She did not scream into his mouth like he expected, instead he recieved the feeling of her lips curling into a smile against his. He ends their kiss, pulling his face away from hers.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Tifa Lockheart."

She smiles more, it was content looking with a mixture of relief, and a small amount of love. Her eyes are still bright in brilliance, but slowly dimmed of life. She reaches a slender hand forward, brushing his cheek weakly.

"No, the pleasure is all mine, Sephiroth," Tifa whispers. "My one-winged angel."(1)

Sephiroth's eyes widened a fraction at this. And the dance club came crashing back down on him, reality pushing his ball room into a deep precipice of his mind. Tifa fell limp in his hands, blood pooling around the knife, her wound, and in his hands. He gathered her in his arms, carrying her bridal style. She would have a proper burial, unlike the others who lay on the ground of a dirty washroom floor, a hand falling into whatever scum there is. He held her against his body, her own curling up into his chest as if she were asleep. He weaves through the sea of people, heading towards the back exit. They did not notice a thing, not the blood on his hands, the blood on the floor, nor the knife precariously sticking out of the young woman; they were too involved in their own selfish needs. He moved quickly, almost reaching the exit. Sephiroth stepped on something. He pauses, looking down at the floor. It was Tifa's engagement ring, broken into small pieces. He scoffs; the ring was a sign of the weak love between this Cloud Strife and _his _Tifa. The assassin merely kicked it aside, continuing on his way out.

* * *

In the dead of night, a silent drive home, Sephiroth's phone rings. He picks it up wearily, knowing full well who was calling him; Jenova.

"Hello, Jenova."

"Ahh, One-winged Angel, was the mission successfully executed?" Jenova's voice was a rasping noise, edging to the sound of a snake.

Sephiroth grips the turning wheel tighter, glancing at his mirror to see Tifa's limp body.

"Yes, it has been done," he ground out, the words spat out with distaste. "Is there anything else you need, Jenova?"

* * *

Nobody saw it coming, all eyes focused on the ever stunning green-eyed beauty, Aeris Gainsborough. She was delectable up, down, and all around, with her auburn hair curled prettily around her face, a cute smile, petite body accented by a tight pink dress, the elegant sway of her hips, and an outgoing and flirty personality. Nobody noticed Tifa Lockheart was dead.

* * *

I hoped you enjoyed this. Once again, I apologize for any confusion caused by this. I'll try to clear up some parts as much as possible, but I still want my readers to interpret the meaning of this (I leave the theme for you to figure out). Any questions regarding the story that has not been answered just pm me. I know this is similar to my other final fantasy one-shot, _Broken Pieces_, but I wrote this waaaayy before it. I think I have a fixation on Tifa angst, cell phones to convey messages, and the waltz.

Okay now to clear up some stuff!

(1) When Tifa called Sephiroth by his name and the One-winged angel, it told Sephiroth that she found out who he really was.

2. The whole deal with the 'Miss' and 'Sir' thing was done on purpose. I had it in there to show that they did not personally know eachother, not even a name to name basis. It was a sense of formality, and manners that I wanted Tifa and Sephiroth to have.

3. If you hadn't noticed, 'One-winged Angel' is Sephiroth's assassin name.

4. Sephiroth's hairstyle came from Heechul (Oh, my beloved Heechul) in the mv 'U' by Super Junior. Although, you could imagine him with his regular bangs.

I think that clears about pretty much all the hazy stuff in this story, although I am quite tired right now, so maybe it's from lack of sleep. I apologize for OOCness. Tomorrow, I'll try to read it over again and see if it's still hazy. Remember, think of the theme for yourself first before asking me if you want to know.

Tons of Non-existent love,

--AT (Is on her way to bed. . . )


End file.
